


The Bobrov Challenge

by Orcteeth



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Emetophobia (not graphic but mention is there), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 02:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcteeth/pseuds/Orcteeth
Summary: Cait isn't one to turn down a challenge, especially if that challenge involves an excessive amount of shots. She's going for Vadim's record, and failure is not an option.





	The Bobrov Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place before Vault 95 and before Frank and Cait are an item. Frank is nonbinary.

“Can we just go on record that I told you this is a terrible, awful idea? Several times?” Frank says, jogging to keep up with Cait. 

Cait rolls her eyes, huffs, crosses her arms and turns on her heel to face Frank, “Yeah yeah, I heard ya. Noted, and all that.” 

Not expecting Cait to stop, Frank barely sidesteps in time to avoid a collision and skips up to the door of the Dugout Inn. They open it, grinning ear to ear in an attempt to play it all off as chivalry instead of clumsiness. “That’s all I ask,” she waves Cait in, “After you.” 

Cait walks in like she owns the place – all confidence and long strides – and makes her way to the counter. She checks her pack for the satchel of caps, slams her free hand down on the sticky countertop, and bellows, “Ivan! I’m here for your damn moonshine challenge!”

A hush falls over the Dugout. Someone sets a bottle down. Another shifts in their seat. Frank smiles nervously as they join Cait, cringing at the deafening step-crunch-peel of their boots on the never-mopped floor. Vadim walks over from the other end of the bar slowly, smiling his signature smile.

“Are you sure, lapochka? Is not for…” he pauses dramatically, spits the next word out like it’s radscorp poison, “lightweights.”

Cait snarls, “You really don’t know me. Fourteen in less'n two minutes, right?”

“Right. Your friend here will time you, yes?”

Frank frowns, “Against my better judgement, yes.” They bring up a makeshift timer on their Pip-Boy, “I’m ready when she is.”

Vadim lays out fifteen shots in front of Cait. Slowly. Cait rolls her shoulders and stretches her hands. Heart racing.

“If she dies I’m going to kill you, Vadim,” Frank growls.

Cait pats Frank ’s shoulder, “Relax. I haven’t died yet from this shite, I’m not gonna start now.” She turns back to the shots, resting her fingers on one. “Let’s do this.”

Vadim claps loudly, drawing the attention of the bar. “Ladies and gentlemen! We have new challenger to my very own record! Let’s all wish her luck, eh?” He yells, inviting the patrons to watch. “Alright, Red. You go on ‘go’. 1… 2… 3… go!”

The first shot is slammed back before the word “go” is completely out of Vadim’s mouth. It burns Cait’s throat and she grimaces. The second goes down easier. By the fifth Cait can no longer taste it. She pauses after the seventh for a quick swig of Nuka-Cola. The tenth has her seeing triple. Somewhere to her left Frank says “forty-five seconds”. Behind her the crowd cheers. At least she thinks they’re behind her. She loses track of her hands but Vadim puts the shots in them for her.

The emptied fifteenth hits the counter mere seconds before Frank calls “time.” There’s noise behind her – a lot of noise, too much noise – and she wobbles, waving her finger in the general direction of one of five Vadims behind the bar. “Toldja y… ya’ damn… Russki. Russkis,” she narrows her eyes, tilts too far to the left, is caught by Frank.

Vadim chuckles, “I can’t believe my eyes! You win fair and square, lapochka. Shots are on me and so is your room for the night.” He leans over to Frank, “You keep an eye on her, yes?”

Frank nods, easing Cait to her feet. “C'mon hon, let’s go somewhere a little quieter,” they whisper.

“Okay,” she slurs, managing two steps before her legs refuse to listen to her. Frank sighs and scoops Cait up into a bridal carry. Cait laughs, kicking her feet on the way to the room, “There they are!”

Frank sets her down on the bed gently, adjusting her so she lays on her stomach. They slide a bucket over towards Cait’s head and sets out some water for her to drink.

“Yer strong,” Cait mumbles, a drunken smile on her lips, “an’ handsome.” She squints, “An’ there’s so many of ya.”

“Close your eyes and there won’t be.”

“Won’t be any then,” Cait frowns, “Don’t want that.”

Frank smirks and sits next to Cait, rubbing her back softly, “Please try to vomit into the bucket.”

“You got it cap'in,” her smile broadens into a grin, eyes closing slowly despite her previous protest.

It doesn’t take long for Cait to start throwing up, most of it finding its way into the bucket. Somehow. Frank holds her hair back out of reflex more than necessity. They stay up with Cait until she has nothing left to throw up and a little after to make sure she’s asleep.

Frank shakes their head, settling down on the couch for what’s left of the night. “A terrible, awful idea,” they mutter, throwing their coat over themself as a blanket.


End file.
